The Bet (Winslow Brothers 1)

“All riiiight,” he says with a waggle of his brows in the rearview mirror. “Looks like you’re about to have a good night.”

I ignore his commentary and toss him two twenties beneath the plexiglass divider.

“Thanks,” I say, and I get out before he has time to say any weird shit about strippers or tits in my face or god knows what else.

And the instant he pulls away, I spot the Taco Bell my brothers and I dined at the infamous night of Rem’s bachelor party, right after a stripper tore his boxers with her stilettos.

But when I move my eyes across the street, expecting to see the Fortune Teller sign shining like a beacon, that’s not what I see at all.

A well-known sign with a little cartoon redhead in pigtails taunts me.

Wendy’s.

A Wendy’s? What the fuck?

I look around the street, my eyes pinging back and forth on everything I can make out, thinking it’s possible that my memory has me a little confused. But when I don’t see anything besides a convenience store and a parking garage, I know that what I’m seeing is real.

The fortune-teller is gone. And she’s been replaced by a goddamn fast-food restaurant.

Son of a bitch.

Both hands in my hair, I yank at the strands and try to figure out what in the hell I should do now.

All the while, Cleo, the apparently retired or out-of-business fortune-teller’s words repeat over and over again inside my head. “There will come a bet. One that will change the course of your life. One that will mold the shape of you as a man. Be careful, though, child. It won’t be a period of easy choices. But if you handle it right, it could lead to a great deal of happiness for you.”

I shouldn’t be able to remember all of that after thirteen years, but it’s like it got stored in the deep recesses of my head until my brain deemed it the perfect moment to torture me with it.

Obviously, now is that absolute perfect moment. After I’ve fucked everything up.

And right on cue, the proverbial cherry on top of this shitty sundae, the sky chooses that exact moment to open up and let the rain come down. Literally. Giant drops of rain pelt me from above and drench my clothes until my white shirt is practically see-through.

Well, this is wonderful. Really wonderful.

And I stand there for the longest moment, just letting my misery and the rain soak me to my core.

Soon, though, my mind starts to clear, and there’s only one person in my life that I know could help me figure all this shit out. If I can figure it out.

It’s not even a full second before I’m in motion.

First, I try to hail a cab, but then, when the first five taxis I see are already occupied, I don’t wait any longer.

Feet to the pavement, I run. Away from that fucking Wendy’s and straight to the one person who can hopefully help me fix everything.

After three knocks to the door, I stand outside on the front porch, and the sky still hasn’t let up. It keeps assaulting me with big beads of rain, but I’m now numb to the cold and to the way my clothes stick to my body and my boots slosh with each step.

When no one answers, I pound my fist against the wood again.

Footsteps sound from the inside, and the front porch light flips on.

“Who the fuck is it?”

I grin when I make out Wes’s figure through the windows that run along the side of the door.

He swings it open and just stands there, looking at me like he’s not sure what to make of the situation.

“Hey, man.” I try to play it cool, you know, like I’m not a man in the middle of a nervous breakdown. “Is Winnie around?”

“Well, she is, but she’s sleeping,” he answers and tilts his head to the side when he starts to recognize my current state. “You okay?”

“Sort of.” I shake my head. “Actually, nah, not really.”

“Who is it?” my sister’s faint voice calls from behind Wes, and the breath I didn’t realize I was holding escapes from my chest.

“It’s one of your crazy brothers.”

“Jude?” Winnie asks, the instant her confused and sleepy gaze meets my face. She steps closer to the door, and her eyes go wide when she looks me up and down, taking in every inch of my drenched attire. “Holy hell, did you run?”

“Cabs were taking too long.”

“What are you doing here?” she questions and tightens her robe around her body. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

Truthfully, no. I don’t have a clue. And I don’t really care. All this shit in my head. All these racing thoughts and regrets and visions of Sophie’s torn-up face when I left her apartment are eating me alive. I have to tell someone, and I need that someone to help me fucking fix it.